The Eight Words No Man Wants to Hear
by RileyAngel
Summary: "Honey does this (fill-in-the-blank) make me look fat?" There is no good answer, and every man dreads the question for that very reason.


**The Eight Words No Man Wants to Hear**. "Honey does this (fill-in-the-blank) make me look fat?" There is no good answer, and every man dreads the question for that very reason.

A brief disclaimer: The characters belong to Ryan Murphy, creator of Glee and the individuals who reside within that universe.

* * *

Noah Puckerman was lounging on the bed, watching his wife prepare for their ten year high school reunion. She was standing at the mirror in her old bathroom in her fathers' house, applying makeup in her bra and slip, and he was definitely enjoying the view. Even at 28, she had the slim, lithe body of a dancer, a physique that she carefully maintained by means of Yoga, Pilates, a (primarily) healthy diet, and performing in six shows a week. The only difference between today and ten years prior was that her girlish figure had been replaced by more womanly curves befitting a woman her age.

Since Rachel's profession required heavily applied cosmetics onstage, she generally opted for a more natural look in her "real life", to which she would add red lipstick for dressier occasions (such as tonight). Her hair, still thick and lustrous, now fell just below her shoulders rather than waist-length. Noah always loved her hair and felt badly the first time she came home with it shorter; however, she had donated the hair to "Locks of Love", which cushioned the blow, so to speak, just a little.

Rachel stepped into her dress, a simple black sleeveless sheath that complimented her shape, and afterward, a pair of red stilettos. The thought crossed his mind that she would look better with it off, hair mussed and eyes wanton with lust lying beneath him, but he quickly filed that thought away for later. "Honey," she began, "would you mind zipping me up?" He got up from the bed and walked over to her, where he easily pulled the zipper up and fastened the hook at the neckline. "You look beautiful, Baby," he complimented in a husky voice, and kissed her on the neck, hands resting on her shoulders. "Do we really have to go?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course we do, Noah," she replied. She glanced at herself in the mirror, a critical expression forming on her face. "Honey, does this dress make me look fat?" she inquired, hopeful that he would say "no". Noah just shook his head in disbelief. "Rachel, what size is that dress?" he asked objectively. "Size two, why?" she answered curiously. Noah chuckled; "Nobody who wears a size two _is_ fat, let alone _looks_ fat, Rach. Why do you ask?"

"Well, when we were in school, I was a size zero, and I don't want everybody talking behind my back about how big I've gotten." Rachel's old high school insecurities were apparently coming back in full force, and it was time for her husband to do some quick psychological damage control.

"Look, Rachel, nobody stays the same size as in high school, it's not natural. I'm not the same size…" he said, as she interjected, "Noah, you look amazing and you know it. You work out three or four nights a week…" "…And you reap the benefits, too" he retorted with a wink. "You still love the guns, don't ya', Baby?" Rachel smiled and admitted, "Yes, Baby I do."

"Anyway, back to the original point," he said, refocusing the topic, "you're _not_ fat. How much do you weigh, Rachel?" She was taken aback, but responded honestly "110 pounds, the last time I checked, why?" "Because I bench press more than that," he retorted. "Do you realize how many of the women who'll be there tonight would kill to weigh that again? Most of the Cheerios are fat hausfraus, now, and they'll be green with envy when they see you." "Do you really think so, Noah?" she asked, hopefully. "I know so," he averred.

"I ran into a couple of them last summer when I came in for a visit…" "…And I was busy with the show and couldn't get away," she finished. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Anyway, I was in the market picking up somethin' for Ma, when this woman approached me. I had no idea who she was and when she introduced herself, I was floored." Noah had been standing behind Rachel all this time, his hands now gently resting on her hips. He looked up at the mirror to catch her eye. "She was a Cheerio back when we were in school; actually, I think I hooked up with her once or twice," he admitted, sheepishly. "Noah, you hooked up with almost everybody; what else is new?" she teased.

"Well, she looked 40, not our age, and she was squeezed into some outfit that was at least two sizes too small." A slight look of relief crossed Rachel's face. "Honey, you have nothing to worry about. You'll probably be the hottest woman there," he said, moving closer so their bodies were nearly touching. "Besides that, think of what you've accomplished."

"I haven't won my Tony," she remarked dejectedly. "How many have you been nominated for?" he asked patiently. "Two," she replied thoughtfully, paused, and then continued, "well, three, actually, if you count this one, but the awards won't be presented for another month." "And," he resumed his questioning, "how many Drama Desk Awards?" "Two…well, I won those," she replied, a modest smile crossing her face. "And how many Grammys?" he queried. "One…but that really was for the Original Broadway Cast recording, not for me," she truthfully answered.

"And, most importantly," he said with a loving smile, "how many children do we have?" "Two," she beamed; "Nate's four and Hannah is two, and they're my dearest 'awards' and proudest accomplishments," she avowed. As if on cue, their little voices rang out with laughter, most likely due to some silly game they were playing with their Zadie and Poppa…and Bubbe, who had stopped by to visit. He moved his hands up slightly and encircled her waist. "Look at this," he commented, "two babies, and I can still put my hands around your waist."

Rachel's face took on a knowing expression. She placed her hands over his and moved them down slightly. "Not for much longer," she said quietly. It took a moment for her confession to sink in. He gingerly caressed her abdomen, and noticed an almost imperceptible roundness where it had been flat mere days before. His face broke out in a huge grin; "A baby?" he asked. "Yes," she said, nodding her head as she began to tear up.

"Rach, that's fantastic! How long have you known?" he excitedly inquired, as he continued to hold her close, hands still over her midsection. "Just a couple of days," she admitted. "I didn't want to tell you until the doctor confirmed it." "Have you told anybody, yet?" he asked. "Not intentionally," she replied cautiously. "Santana was over when I got the call, and she figured it out. Don't worry," she quickly added, "she's sworn to secrecy."

"Well, that'll last about two minutes," he commented, chuckling. "Kurt will pull it out of her as soon as he sees her." "He has sixth sense where gossip is concerned, that's for sure," Rachel agreed. "In that case, we'd better go downstairs and inform the grandparents," Noah recommended with a grin. "If it'll be all over the reunion within five minutes, they'd better find out from us, first."

Rachel turned around to face her husband. "Happy?" she shyly asked, looking deeply into his eyes, her hand caressing his cheek. "Are you kidding, Baby? Over the moon!" he joyously replied. Rachel grabbed her clutch purse, and Noah took her free hand in his. "Ready to let our parents in on the news?" he asked. "Definitely," she replied. "Let's go!"


End file.
